126.

The Imperial Princess glanced first at Cardier, who seemed too distraught even to offer a proper greeting, then at Nick collapsed beside him, and then alternately at the pirates kneeling obediently with their hands bound. The Imperial Princess stammered out her question.

“I wonder how you managed to track them down.”

“Is that more urgent than my wife’s life?”

Cardier, his eyes bloodshot, growled as if only now regaining his senses. Had he been fully rational, he would never have dared speak thus to the Imperial Princess—but given how critically ill his wife appeared at first glance, no one thought to reprimand him. Moreover, Lieutenant Montrosa was now a legitimate war hero… perhaps, along with his wife. The Imperial Princess took a step back.

“No. No, of course not. Summon the royal physician at once.”

The reason this war had dragged on was not due to any deficiency in Esperanda’s naval strength, but rather because of an unforeseen remnant of the age of magic: pirates who attacked without warning amid thick fog, and a witch capable of summoning storms. It was a tale that belonged in fairy tales—something nearly impossible to believe until witnessed firsthand. Without Lieutenant Montrosa’s abilities, they might never have even found a clue.

The Imperial Princess cast her gaze toward the distant sea. The sun, now fully risen above the horizon, sparkled across the golden waves.

“It is our victory.”

* * *

“Why hasn’t she regained consciousness yet?”

The question came out sharp and dry. An anxious gaze pressed heavily upon the elderly royal physician. The physician rolled up the woman’s sleeve, checked the color of her tongue, and flipped back each eyelid. The woman appeared merely asleep. Were it not for her extremely faint heartbeat, she might have been mistaken for someone simply exhausted from fatigue.

The physician attempted auscultation once more. After decades of military service, he had seen all manner of patients, but never one with such faint and sluggish heartbeats. Not only were they weak, but unnaturally slow—likely due to the abuse of Truvado in someone already frail. No sooner had he lowered the stethoscope than the demand came flying.

“Any symptoms?”

“She appears only to be asleep. There are no serious injuries.”

“Just asleep?”

“Yes. Most likely due to accumulated exhaustion. I cannot say for certain, but I expect her to regain consciousness within a few days.”

Cardier exhaled deeply, dragging his dry hands down his face. Even in his weary, gaunt appearance, he resembled a saintly portrait. Hadn’t he said he hadn’t slept for days, keeping vigil by his wife’s bedside? At this rate, the viscount himself was becoming a cause for concern.

For a moment, the physician hesitated. Was he adding unnecessary worry to someone already suffering? But compared to the consequences of concealing clear symptoms, such hesitation was trivial. Carefully choosing his words, the physician spoke.

“Everything else is quite normal, but there is one slight peculiarity…”

“A peculiarity?”

The viscount’s tone, even in carefully phrased sentences, singled out awkward words with chilling, almost menacing precision. The physician gulped, then finally blurted out in resignation.

“Her heartbeat is abnormally slow. I cannot be certain, but judging by her complexion, eyelid tremors, and lip color, she appears to have ingested a significant amount of Truvado… Do you have any idea what that might be?”

“Truvado?”

Cardier furrowed his brow at the unfamiliar name. The physician scratched the back of his head, acknowledging his misstep.

“Ah. It may not be well-known in the Imperial heartland. It’s a medicinal herb smuggled in small quantities from the Eastern Continent.”

“Continue.”

“In small doses, it acts as a hallucinogen. Taken in large amounts at once, it induces a coma-like sleep. It also significantly slows the heart rate.”

Cardier raised one eyebrow.

“…A hallucinogen?”

“Yes. It has severe side effects and aftereffects, so extreme caution is required. Fortunately, it seems the lady hasn’t been exposed for long. However, if consumption continues, there is a risk of losing her vision and voice… M-My Lord Lieutenant?”

“I’ll be right back. Don’t move.”

Cardier shot up from his seat before the physician could add another word. He stormed out of the cabin and strode quickly down the corridor. A sudden, chilling intuition struck him. A memory from not so long ago surged over him like a tidal wave—the Eastern Continent herb ‘Truvado’ that Rosetta had taken, and ‘Audrey Young Lady’s Tea.’ Was it merely a coincidence that both were hallucinogens?

If the two drugs were truly connected, then Nick and Audrey Young Lady might also be linked. Now even Audrey’s obscure origins seemed suspicious. Regardless of the circumstances, if Nick was entangled with someone so powerful, investigating his underlings might yield some clue…

“Oh, Lieutenant Montrosa.”

Hugo, approaching from the opposite corridor, spotted Cardier and snapped off a quick salute.

“I was just coming to report to you.”

Cardier impatiently swept his hair back.

“Speak.”

“It’s about the pirate ship we seized a few days ago. Judging by its exterior, it should have four decks, but when we counted the actual levels, it fell far short. They’d added wooden planks near the stairs to fake the number of floors.”

“And?”

“When we removed the false planks, we found an entire hidden deck—and within it, ledgers suggesting human trafficking.”

His gaze, now sharpened with clarity, fixed directly on Hugo.

“Humans? Were they trading slaves?”

“Well… it’s a bit strange. According to the ledgers, dozens, perhaps hundreds of people had been aboard, yet there’s absolutely no trace anyone ever lived there.”

Hugo shuddered slightly, as if just thinking about it made his skin crawl.

“It’s as if they were moving stacked corpses.”

* * *

Rosetta awoke with a splitting headache. Her skull throbbed as if she’d downed a thick shot of rum, and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Damn this fragile body. As if to prove she wasn’t weak, it always rebelled at the slightest strain. It felt absolutely wretched. Soon after came a terrible thirst and gnawing hunger. Her body, deprived of even a sip of water for nearly three days, screamed in pain.

She clutched her pounding forehead and struggled to sit up in bed. As she fumbled around, searching for water or someone, she felt a heavy sensation in her hand. Someone had tightly grasped her wrist and was leaning against the bed, fast asleep. Even in the darkness, she instantly recognized the sun-kissed blond hair, the straight nose, and the firmly closed lips. For a moment, Rosetta thought she must be hallucinating from sheer longing.

She stared at Cardier, forgetting to breathe. His face, even in unconscious slumber, was so unfairly handsome it made reality fade away. And the desperate strength with which he clutched her hand—his large knuckles taut with visible veins. It wasn’t painful, but her wrist felt numb from the pressure.

Absently wondering if her fingers were bruised from being squeezed, she suddenly realized he wasn’t actually gripping her hand at all. His fingers were clenched tightly around the sheet beneath her. Her hand was merely trapped, like a pressed flower, between his large palm and the soft fabric. There was no reason for bruises to form in the first place—though the difference in their size had stretched her fingers to their limit, leaving them slightly stiff.

Ah, so that was it. This was the moment he became different from others. Such a small act of consideration.

It was salvation greater than any words. Proof that Cardier still loved her. The moment she realized it, her heart raced wildly. She was overjoyed that he still loved her, yet sorrowful, utterly helpless, and infinitely grateful all at once. After a long hesitation, Rosetta gently brushed her knuckles against the sleeping Cardier’s cheek. It was an exceedingly cautious touch, as if all their countless nights together meant nothing.

That was when she sensed someone else’s presence in the room. Rosetta stiffened like a cat on alert.

“…Who’s there?”

Her voice, hoarse from disuse, sounded harsh, like metal scraping against metal. It wasn’t threatening, and the figure gave no reply.

Rosetta swiftly snatched the paper knife from the nightstand beside the bed. Its blunt tip rendered it nearly useless as a weapon, but just holding it gave her psychological comfort.

It was odd that Cardier hadn’t woken up—normally, he was highly sensitive to others’ presence. But now, she had to focus on the immediate threat. Clutching her fragile consciousness tightly, Rosetta thrust the paper knife toward the shadowy space where the intruder might be and shouted.

“Reveal yourself immediately. Otherwise…”

“What a temper you have.”

At her rebuke, a figure emerged from the darkness, stepping forward and lowering their hood. The scolding voice was so familiar it was almost unbearable. Yet, perhaps due to shared hardship, the old woman’s eyes were softer than usual. Rosetta cried out the witch’s name in a loud voice.

“Calypso!”